Sensitive
by Soncnica
Summary: How Sam, with his sensitive soul, saw something he shouldn’t…not yet anyway. And how it's up to Dean to fix it. Teen!chester fic, Sam is 15 and Dean is 19.
1. Chapter 1

**I had to put this up. Had to. It's not finished yet, but if I'm gonna dwell on this some more, I'm gonna loose my mind. So, **_coughs__**, **_**this is that **_last_** wee!chester fic, well teen!chester fic I promised. I swear I will finish it, I have the second chapter all done, **_sort of_**, but I had to put this up, I need to stop thinking about this part, I have to put my mind into the second part. And putting this up on the site…then I know that I can not change what I wrote and that I have to write the second chapter soon. **

**Anyway…as usual, nothing has changed, I still don't own the boys, but the mistakes…sadly…yeah I own them. **

**And I am still working on that hurt!Dean fic…it's gonna be, **_hmmm _** 'lovely' **_evil smile_**. But doing that…I wrote the first chapter yesterday (don't worry, I have several chapters already written) and I spooked myself so bad. Creepy. So I just needed to hurt Sam here, you know, so that I won't loose my touch and to 'uncreep' myself. **

**Wow, was that a long a/n or what. Sorry.  
**

**Enjoy…**

**--**

The night sky was clear because the afternoon wind threatened the clouds…eventually they dispersed and left nothing behind but high, wide planes of the dark sky.

The Impala stopped in a clearing, abruptly but still with such ease that it didn't even make a sound. Its brakes stopped their mission right next to a tall, skinny tree that was probably a spruce tree, although none of the occupants of the big, black car cared much. They were in a forest, and a forest has trees. It's how it is, no need to concern yourself with that. But those trees, that mass of trees held a _thing_… their next hunt.

"We're here, boys."

His father's voice put Sam's sleepy brain on alert like pulling a switch. He was laying down on the backseat, drooling over his arm he held under his head. He blinked twice to clear his vision when he was hit with a bright light coming from the front seat.

"Get that," slur, "off my face, you jerk." He slurred out the words, sucking in the drool as he raised himself from his position. But some of it remained on his cheek and he efficiently wiped it off. Kind of…he could still feel some of it crusting on his cheek…_fun_.

Dean smirked: "We're here, drool boy."

"Idiot." the irritation in his voice was thick enough to cut it with a knife.

"I'm not the one drooling all over the place. Now, come on."

He pointed the flashlight at Sam's chest, but the light spread to Sam's face, illuminating his moist eyes.

Dean looked at Sam, with criss-cross patterns on his face, the deepest cutting a straight line from his mouth to his left eye, dividing his mole in two. His long, brown hair was falling in his eyes again and Dean got this sudden urge to pick up a pair of scissors and just go at it.

"What?" he picked something crunchy from the corner of his eye and looked at Dean…his brother with a weird grin on his face.

Dean was just a big muddy figure over the bright light of the flashlight but the unmistakable stare, the look…burned into Sam. Always did, always will.

"Come on, get your gun, Sammy."

"It's Sam."

"Gun, now. Sammy."

Sam rolled his eyes.

They both exited the car, the barely audible noise the doors made alerted John that his boys were up and ready.

"Here you are Dean, this one is yours and Sam." John pushed a .45 into Sam's bony hand.

Sam swallowed…no matter how many times he held the gun it still felt wrong somehow.

"O.K, Sam, go in the car." He tucked the gun behind his waist and started walking towards the woods.

"Wha…?" he was sure his Dad was joking.

_I mean he has to be kidding right?_

"Sam, stay in the car."

"Dad." Whiny, but he didn't care.

"Sam, in the car!" he pointed his hand towards the Impala that was waiting patiently for Sam to sit in.

"Dad, I'm not a child anymore!"

Dean watched the whole thing happening, it was like a maze of words spoken but he couldn't grasp the meaning behind them. All he could do was to listen to voices that were raised a little too high and he knew that everything was going into flames. Only ashes would remain if he won't intervene…he knew that.

"Sam, get your ass in the god damned car, or I swear I'll drag you in myself!"

He heard his Dad's rough, deep voice yell at Sam who was standing still in front of the Impala, twitching muscles and tight jaw.

"Dad."

He had to say something, had to make this right. Sam had to stay here, he was too young to go on this hunt, too young to see…

"Sam."

His brothers voice penetrated his mind, and he looked at Dean standing a little behind his Dad and saw him tilting his head. Sam knew what that meant: 'go in the car and don't piss Dad off.'

The wind was picking up speed, rustling the leaves on the nearby trees, needles falling into Sam's hair and little bugs that didn't quite wanna go to sleep yet; those were the only things that were keeping Sam company as he watched his Dad and brother walk deeper into the forest.

The stars were flickering and bickering with the old moon that chased the sun throughout the day finally overtaking the rule on the almost pitch black void. He looked up at them, wondering if there is someone else in this fucked up world that's in the same shoes as he is. He looked down on the floor, observing his dirty, worn out sneakers and snorted: "Yeah, probably."

The small creek somewhere behind the Impala heard his sigh as he sat down on the backseat, holding the gun in his hand like a child holds a teddy bear. Something to have, something to chase away the fear…the darkness. But a gun isn't soft and warm; it's hard, cold and dangerous.

The summer heat was still holding onto the edges of the night, not wanting to give cold a chance…and it was hot, sweat inducing hot, that a night just shouldn't be. He was sweating, his T-shirt becoming his second skin, but he couldn't risk taking it off. Mosquitoes and flies were there, just waiting for some of his sweet blood. He waved his hand in the air, efficiently swatting a fly away, but in mere seconds a mosquito came.

"Hate the woods."

And he was bitten; he killed the mosquito, but the itch was there. He wiped the bloody, little body into his jeans and scratched at the bite.

"Awesome, just…" he scratched at the red bump again, knowing he shouldn't, but shit, if it didn't itch.

He was making small talk with himself, nothing wrong with that. It was just that…silence was all he heard, all there was…and that silence was breaking his soul. There was that annoying sound of the creek, but all that did was sparked a need to piss. He tried to ignore it, tried to focus his mind, ears to something else, but there was only silence. Amongst the noises of the forest, all he could hear was silence. No Dean and no Dad.

Every little noise that was heard, every little noise that broke the silence was unnerving. His eyes kept darting left to right, up and down, his little hands clenching the gun like it was his lifeline. Without Dean there…

The moon was low, he could almost see the blue, almost gray craters on it, and a blue circle of mist around her: "Something bad 's gonna happen." He whispered to his safety blanket that was tucked neatly in his arms…the gun.

Another rustle in the nearby bushes almost stopped his heart. His breathing picked up speed, it hurt to expand his chest like that, it hurt to know he was left alone…it hurt to be alone.

It hurt so bad…he could cry…but he was a big boy. At fifteen, you don't cry. You clench your jaw and tense your muscles and suck it up. But fear? That is what cripples you, that is the thing that makes you soft and sensitive to everything and everyone. Especially when your soul is just that…sensitive.

He held his gun in his hand, pointing it straight at the tree Dean passed by. That tree was his focus point…that tree was the only thing keeping his mind from walking away.

He could feel his heartbeat pounding in his temples, so fast, too fast…blood rushing in his veins, fear almost crippling him. He swallowed, and breathed again, clenching the gun in his hands…and his gaze never wavered from the tree. It had leaves on it, leaves that rustled almost too quietly for him to hear, but the sound was there. That fainted _shhhhhh _of them swinging in the wind.

He breathed, he can not stop breathing…he can not give in to the night, to the silence, to the noises…keep breathing.

Another rustle on his left and he squirmed in the leather seat, trying somehow to make himself small, and yet tall. Tall enough to scare off any creature that might come his way and small enough not to be seen. Harder to do then to say.

An animal cried out and he almost pulled the trigger.

_Jumpy much, Sammy? _His brain asked him.

"No…" he whispered out, colliding with the squeak of two trunks grazing each other.

When he thought he couldn't take this any more…

The sound of a gun…made his blood boil…his breath hitch…his eyes close…his fingers squeeze.

"They'll be back soon." He whispered to the Impala, to himself, to the tree. Breathe.

Another sound of a gun…made his eyes water…made his heart stop beating…made his stomach roll…made him grab his flashlight…made his feet hit the ground and run. Breathe.

He passed by the tree…oak tree…scary old man with branches stretching down to the floor…almost grazing the floor, grazing Sam's head as he ran towards the gun shot.

His mind was blank; the only thing that occupied his mind was: _Dean, Dad, Dean, Dad, Dean, Dad!! Run faster. _

There was nothing there but shortness of breath, scratches on his arms, when he ran through the bushes, to close to branches, to oblivious to the roots on the floor, not paying attention to rocks, hidden traps beneath the leaf covered floor. His sneakers were breaking twigs and crunching leaves, kicking rocks and jumping over roots…some, but not all.

He fell once, twice, when his foot got stuck on a tree root: "Aww, Hell!"

He scraped his palms, catching his weight on his hands like that, it hurt, yeah, but he'll live. It burned and it itched. He scraped skin of his knee too, that hurt, but…

_Dean, Dad!! Dean, Dad!! Dean, Dad!! Dean, Dad!! Dean, Dad!! Run faster. _

He pulled himself up again and ran…faster. He could feel the soft ground underneath his shoes, he could feel his knee burning, when he straightened his leg, feel branches scraping his hands, his cheeks…blood began to ooze down his arms, but…

_Dean, Dad!! Dean, Dad!! Dean, Dad!! Dean, Dad!! Run faster._

He jumped over a fern, thick and big, with gentle branches scraping over his jeans. And he fell, as he was tall and wide…he fell on the ground, scraping skin of his elbow…it burned and it hurt and it bled. A splinter made its home in his palm but he raised himself up…ignoring everything but…

_Dean, Dad!! Dean, Dad!! Dean, Dad!! Dean, Dad!! Run faster._

So he ran. The blood was running in a slow river down his forearm, but…

_Dean, Dad!! Dean, Dad!! Dean, Dad!! Dean, Dad!! Run faster._

He breathed, deep, fast and painful. His legs were aching to stop, but…

_Dean, Dad!! Dean, Dad!! Dean, Dad!! Dean, Dad!! Run faster._

Can't stop…

He didn't even know why he ran, why he had to run, why…why...why…all there was, was…

_Dean, Dad!! Dean, Dad!! Dean, Dad!! Dean, Dad!! Run faster._

He shone his way with the flashlight, the beam darting all over the place. The silver light from the huge moon was laughing at him, _you're too slow, boy._

Every tree looked like a monster, every bush came to life, every sound just intensified his fear. He couldn't remember how to breathe, he didn't know where he was running…

_Dean, Dad!! Dean, Dad!! Dean, Dad!! Dean, Dad!! Run faster._

He pushed himself, pushed his long, bony legs faster, faster, faster until he couldn't breathe anymore.

His sides started to hurt, the pain masking the pain of not breathing properly, his chest heaving, his heart somewhere in his temples, his eyes…loosing sight into something misty…bleary.

He wanted to yell _Dean, Dad!! _but he couldn't find his voice, couldn't find his breath to scream. He clenched the flashlight with his left hand and the gun with his right and before he could crash and fall he saw Dean, he saw Dad and he saw…a man.

**--**

**TBC…**

**Should I? Continue I mean. **


	2. Chapter 2

**Anyway…you know how plans, well, suck?! I planned for this to be only a 2 chapter story and ha, well, I'm gonna make this a 3 chapter story. I just thought why not, you know? I really hope that's okay! And I really appreciated every reader and every review and every alert I got for this story, that is why I decided to put this up…I think it's better than nothing, right?!**

**So this is the 2****nd**** chapter and thank you Emerald-Water for being so annoying, or else I wouldn't have this up for at least a week. I am currently writing the 3****rd**** chapter, and I will get it up this week or early next week. **

**The interaction between Dean and Sam in this chapter, happened between two of my friends, brothers the same age as I put Sam and Dean in. I will not tell you why it happened but it did, and it was awful, so this is semi true story. I was fascinated by what the oldest did and I really think that Dean would do the same for Sam. So without me boring you to death, here…oh and I apologize for all the mistakes. **

**Enjoy…**

**--**

A small rabbit shaped cloud came to hang out with the old moon, covering her from head to toe when Sam stopped…and saw…and heard…

"Please…" a raspy voice, silent almost in the too silent world came from the man laying on the leafy ground. Some leaves rustled when he gasped for air, arching his back a little.

Sam stood there, in the clearing, tall trees around him, whispering _shhhhh_ and swinging in the soft breeze. Dean was standing on his right, shoulders hunched, his hands gripping his shotgun, jaw clenched, his spiky hair glowing in the moonlight, his eyes going wide with shock of seeing Sam there.

"Sammy!" Dean's voice came to Sam on a warm breeze.

Dad…Dad was leaning over the man, kneeling near the man's side, speaking words to soft to hear.

Sam was still clutching the gun and the flashlight in his hands, not knowing how he managed to hold onto them for this long. His hands were sweaty and cold, trembling and cracking knuckles on the hard plastic of the flashlight.

"Sam!" it was his fathers voice now…the deep growl…angry and full of fear.

His flashlight fell on the floor with a muffled squish as it hit a mushroom, squishing it to little pieces of white cap and yellow meat. The smell enveloped Sam, but he didn't notice, his senses too focused on the man's silent tears and panicked voice. And his gun…was still being his safety blanket.

He stood there…forgetting how to breathe, his chest squeezing tight, his eyes transfixed on the man. The flashlight his Dad had in his hand threw its light straight onto the man's chest and Sam saw…the blood, the dirt, the torn up clothes, the fear in the man's eyes reflecting on the stream of the light…moonlight, flashlight... it didn't matter, it was too bright, too bright, too much to see.

"Help…me," his eyes found Sam's, bloody eyes, no white visible, shining with tears, warm and cold at the same time, ferocious, "boy."

The man raised his dirty hand towards his Dad and Sam dropped his gun. Dropped his safety blanket and the sound it made when it collided with a rock, vibrated through his chest, squeezing the rest of the air out. The man's eyes were holding a steady look on Sam's, both with glistering tears, both in a pull of currents; fear and pain.

"Sammy, hey, Sam, come here…"

_Was that Dean? _

Something dark obscured his line of vision, blocking his view on the man's eyes. He felt hands tugging his shirt, he felt hands go around his neck, down his back, he felt hands tighten their grip, he felt hands clenching the back of his shirt, he felt hands…strong, muscular, tugging, holding, gentle, soft, hard, warm, suffocating. He could feel the bone in Dean's arm pushing into his ribs, hard and painful.

His face was pushed into someone's chest…hard, moving, breathing, soft, undertones of a fabric softener...he poured too much of it when he was doing laundry, Dad laughed and Dean said it was as soft as a baby's tushy and that he will learn eventually.

But it smelled so nice right now. And moving and warm and soft and…

_Dean? Smells like Dean. _

"Sam, hey, don't look, don't look. 's O.K." The words were a soft whisper into Sam's hair, the deep voice Dean had, vibrated through Sam's ears all the way down to his chest giving him air to breathe.

_When did Dean's voice become so deep?_

And he breathed with his brother, sharing raising chest and fast heartbeat.

"Help me, boy." Once more from the dying man. Three slurred words, barely reaching Sam's ears, barely touching him.

"Shut up, you son of a bitch!" Shifting on his cheek, soft fabric grazing his flesh, the amulet string pressing its material somewhere near his eye, rumble in the solid chest, words spoken by Dean, words too loud, too close, angry, fierce.

Sam flinched.

Dean's hands were suffocating Sam, pressing him to his chest, wanting Sam not to see, not to hear and not to feel any of this. Not yet, not now.

"Sammy, don't look, don't look. 's O.K. Just...just don't look." The words were fast, tumbling out of his mouth, hitting Sam's soft hair, moving that one wayward hair on the top of his head with every breath the words possessed.

"Don't look, 's fine." The trees made a _shhhhh_ noise again, echoing Dean's intended word that was cut off by Sam's hair finding its way into his mouth and it tasted like flowers.

_Girly shampoo. Ewww. _

But it was Sam. Limp in his arms.

Even with all his effort, Dean knew it was too late when he felt Sam go silent in his arms. Sam already saw, already heard, already felt.

"Don't look, Sam," he lowered his voice to a mere whisper, to a sound only he and Sam would be able to hear, "don't look. 's fine." And the trees _shhhhhhed_ again.

He gripped Sam tighter, maybe breaking a rib, maybe bruising his lower back, maybe squeezing the air out of him…but he didn't care. Anything would be better then Sam seeing this.

Sam was sweating, shaking, tensing and relaxing all at once. Dean's hand kept sliding down from Sam's nape, the soft hair there tickling his palm when he readjusted his hold.

He knew he should take Sam away, drag him away as soon as possible, he knew that, but he didn't think Sam would make it. He didn't think Sam would be able to walk. Carrying him was an option but…he felt Sam slipping from his grip even though he was holding him with all the strength he possessed. He tightened his grip a bit more, cringing when he thought he heard something crack, _a rib? No, no, 'm not holding him _that_ tight._

He felt another crack and something beneath his feet…flashlight.

_Piece of shit._

He kicked it away and with it some of the mushroom too. The smell became stronger then, sharp and sweet and intoxicating.

Sam's nose was pressed into Dean's T-shirt, almost squishing it on Dean's amulet, the warmth on his forehead, the heartbeat…too fast, too slow, too much…all there. All mixed up. The smells, the darkness, the breathing, the nothingness of sound…just murmurs in his ear, in his hair…_don't look, Sam, hey, don't look. _Nothing made sense anymore. Dad and the man and Dean and a gun and blood and _no air _and tight arms around him and feet not even touching the ground anymore and warmth of a solid body right on his face.

_Need air, air, breathe, air, air!!_

Dean was holding his baby brother in his arms, one hand on the back of Sam's neck, the other on Sam's lower back. And when Sam rotated his head, _to breathe_, Dean could feel his silky hair…like time flowing underneath his fingers. Time he will never get back…time when Sam saw…a man die. Heard a man die. Feel death. Smell it.

Dean's hand was on Sam's ear now, squishing the soft flesh, soft bones there. Hurting, tickling.

"Dean, take Sam to the car." Sam saw his Dad's head, saw his eyes look at him, saw him moving his mouth, but couldn't hear one damned word. Nothing. Only rustling of leaves and Dean's huffing breaths that stirred his hair.

"Yes, Sir." The words were an echo in Sam's ears, a vibration send through his cheek to his brain. But nothing registered in there. All silence and _need air._

And then he was walking, being pushed, manhandled towards the bushes, his hands holding a steady grip on Dean's T-shirt, near his hip, never wavering in strength. Never. It was the only contact he could afford, the only strength he possessed. The material was soft and loose, easy and warm. In some point he might have made a hole in it with tugging on it too much, but he didn't care. He just pushed his fingers through the hole, scraping his fingers on Dean's skin and bone and squeezed.

_Help me, boy_…echoed in his ears, settling in his mind. _Help me boy_…and those eyes, bloody, feral, dirty face, torn up clothes, tears and weakness.

They almost danced away from their Dad and the man, limbs tangled, legs stumbling on the uneven ground. Dean must have stepped on Sam's sneakers dozen of times and Sam barely made a sound.

A gun shot that rang out through the forest was the last thing the man heard and then…then there was death with a cricket waking up in the distance.

**--**

**TBC… Right?**


	3. Chapter 3

**You know what? I think it's time for me to face the fact that my brain went wild with this 'supposed to be a one shot' story and just make it an official 'I have no idea how many chapters' story. I'm sorry, I hope you can forgive me… it's just that Dean needs some more time to fix Sam. I'm really sorry. I hope you'll stick with me until the end, but if not…that's okay too. **

**And Emerald-Water you ARE the Queen of bugging…thank you so much and all of you who have reviewed…I'm really happy that you're enjoying the story so far. **

**Enjoy…please…**

**--**

The gunshot thundered through the forest, scaring the night birds off the branches, scattering the leaves, making them fly softly on the breeze. The birds wings made a sound Dean never wanted to hear again. It reminded him of the man's breathing. But that monster is dead now. Finally.

The noise stopped Dean, stopped his tugging and pulling at Sam…the dead weight in his arms.

Stopped Sam's breathing, stopped his shaking, stopped the pain in his arms, in his knee and settled deep into his chest. It rang out in his ear, seeping slowly into his brain…_need air_.

It stopped their steps in the fern, the cracking noise when their boots crunched the straw thin branches, could be heard for miles.

The soft cares of the fern was doing nothing to ease Dean's mind. He could feel the gentle leaves through his jeans; it was a solid press, a presence of something alive and kind…but it was Sam that was a presence too, a soft presence of life too sensitive for all off this.

Even though his face was still pressed into Dean's warm chest, Sam felt the shot as it stung his ears, cracking the tissue there. He felt it through Dean's body, felt it through the moving of Dean's chest, felt it like he was the one being shot. It was muffled by the distance, but nevertheless…it stopped his thoughts, it stopped his ability to feel anything…anything at all.

Dean felt Sam flinch, felt him go stiff, rigid like an iron bar.

_Not good. _

_Help me, boy…_the man's thick voice, dirty face, bloody chest, cold eyes…was all Sam felt, all he saw, all that was in his brain, breaking his ability to feel…to breathe.

He shuddered and pressed himself closer to Dean's warmth, his smell, _too much fabric softener_, his arms…strong, never letting go. His ability to feel came back the instant he felt Dean's amulet string grazing his nose. He felt alive for a mere second, before the silence overtook him again.

Because the night was loud and it was silent. It was dark and it was bright, it was…Sam in his arms. Dean looked down at his brother, seeing only a patch of rustled hair, brown and shining in the moonlight.

"Sam?" he went for a whisper, he went for gentle, he went for an order.

Silence.

His hand slipped from the back of Sam's neck again, and he resettled it, cupping Sam's head. His fingers grazed the pulse point and he counted. _Too fast, too fast, too fast...shit, Sammy. _

The cricket stopped its song, the birds settled down, the wind _shhhhhhhed_ and the fern caressed. Sam…breathed. Dean felt him take a breath, his hand on Sam's back rose up and down…too slow, too shallow.

"Sammy?"

Silence.

He felt Sam shaking through the hand on his back…he pressed it deeper, stronger into Sam's spine, trying to iron the tremors, but it didn't help. He felt Sam's chest rising and falling, rubbing his own chest…too fast and too short…too shallow, too quick. Too messed up.

"Sammy, 's O.K., you're fine…just," he grabbed hold of Sam's hands, knowing he was putting bruises in the kid's forearm, "let's get to the car, O.K."

He pushed him from his chest, where Sam seemed to settle like a bird in a nest and looked at him. Truly looked at his baby brother for the first time tonight.

"Sam…" breathless.

The dry saliva from when Sam was sleeping was a white line going from his mouth to his chin, his forehead was hidden beneath a cascade of brown, shiny hair, moist from sweat. His mouth was slightly open, pulling in the much needed air, _still not enough, Sammy_, his cheeks were blushed, Dean didn't know from what…fear, running, lack of oxygen, warmth...everything. His nose had a bruise, a line of skin…an exact replica of the string that holds the amulet. Dean smiled at that for a moment.

But when he looked at Sam's eyes, he almost swallowed his tongue. They were a black maze of unshed tears. A storm was brewing in them and Dean knew he will be the one who'll have to find shelter…for the both of them.

"Sam, we have to move, come on."

He pulled Sam closer to himself again, settled him back to his chest and felt Sam sag a bit with the contact.

The steady pressure of Dean's chest, the raising and falling of it lulled Sam deeper into the haze of _Help me, boy_…words that hurt and tore at his soul.

And they walked…ran on occasion, stumbled over their legs, stumbled over the bushes, breaking twigs, rustling the leaves, cracking little bugs who were too slow on their tiny feet. The sounds of the forest were everywhere, birds, crickets, rustling, howling, tsking, cracking, but all Sam heard was…_help me, boy_.

Dean never let go of Sam's back or the back of his neck. The curls of Sam's hair were damp there, and Dean intertwined his fingers with them. With every step made he pressed Sam a little closer to himself, a little closer to his strength. He felt Sam's hands gripping the hem of his T-shirt, he knew Sam tore a hole in there, and he felt Sam's cold fingers dig themselves into that hole. Expanding it, until he fitted all his fingers in there. He felt Sam's bony fingers scrape his skin near his hip, felt them squeeze the fabric.

Sam sagged and breathed into Dean's chest. The warm breath in that exhale send shivers through Dean's skin…it was in such contrast to the cold he felt all over his body. He was soaked in sweat, almost matching Sam in that department and whenever Sam breathed out, the warmth spread throughout his body. He would never admit to anyone that he counted those breaths. It was the only way of knowing how Sam was doing. Too fast, too slow, too shallow, too deep...Dean knew it all, knew how Sam felt, knew when to go slower, knew when it was alright to go faster. All in the counts of Sam's breaths.

"Come on, move your feet, Sammy." were words whispered into his hair. They were like an arrow shot straight into his brain, but his brain had an 'out of order' sign on its door.

_Help me, boy_…playing over and over again. Like a broken record stuck on the exact same words…_help me, boy_.

They walked, they ran, they stumbled…but they never fell. Ever. Dean's hold was too tight, and Sam was too pliant to do anything about it. Their legs tangled up; it was a dance they performed, a dance to escape, a dance of tangled limbs and too fast breaths. Dean held his baby brothers body in his hands and pushed him forwards through the labyrinth of trees and bushes. He knew exactly where the car was, knew the way even in the silver light of the ancient moon.

Dean felt Sam shake like a leaf on a wild river, felt him breathing, felt him sweating, felt his T-shirt getting soaked. Felt all of Sam's bones moving, all his muscles twitching.

He never wanted Sam to see this…that, not this soon and not in that way. Sam was too sensitive for this…now. Why the hell did Sam come there? Why would he leave the car? Why would Sam…?

His line of why's was interrupted by the sight of the car. It was waiting there, patiently. The back door was open, and Dean flinched. But it was Sam…limp in his arms that pulled his thoughts away from all the nasty things that he thought could happen to the Impala…with its door open like that. But it was Sam…shaking in his arms, in his tight grip, that stole his attention. He let go of Sam's back and spun him around, awkwardly and too fast, making Sam stumble and almost fall on the floor.

"Sam, hey," he took a look at Sam's face, "look, we're gonna sit in the car and wait for Dad and then we're leaving."

Sam didn't blink. He just stared straight ahead into Dean's chest, the moonlight reflecting from the amulet and he was mesmerized by it. How it swung back and forth, reflecting the bright light. Reflecting his heartbeat, breath. Back and forth, in and out, thumpthump.

The big oak scratched Dean's shoulder, almost like petting him, telling him that everything's gonna be alright. They passed the tree, and stumbled on its root, but Dean's grip was too steady and too strong to make them fall.

Sam's legs were shaking, lacking strength to walk, lacking the strength to stand…

_Help me, boy_…that voice, that whisper of three simple words, turned his whole body into jelly.

The gunshot still echoed through him. It settled into him, it made a home in his chest. And the sound of the man's pleas was in his brain, eating away the soft voice of his brother.

He was being pushed again, and when he landed on the Impala's leather seat he sighed.

"Sam? Can you hear me?"

He crouched down, near where Sam's knees were and rested his hands on Sam's thighs. The jeans there were wet, the early morning dew landed there, when Sam was running through the bushes. And there was some blood near Sam's right knee. His jeans were torn there, little strips of bloody fabric.

"Sam? What the hell?" he touched Sam's knee and Sam flinched, but didn't make a sound.

"You fell?" he looked up at Sam's face, those eyes…staring back at him…stormy and glazed with tears.

No answer.

"You hurt anywhere else?" _besides your soul?_

The softly whispered words brought no answer.

He let go of Sam's knee and picked up Sam's hands that were only a second ago clenching his T-shit. He gripped them by the wrist, noticing how fast Sam's heart was beating, _if you keep this up, Sam, you're gonna have a heart attack_. They were cold, even in this summer heat, Sam's hands were like ice.

"Sam, calm down." he tightened his grip on Sam's wrists but felt no change in Sam's heartbeat.

"Sam, look at me." so soft not even the Impala heard it.

No flinch, no answer, nothing. Not even a blink of an eye.

"Sam, O.K.," he raised his voice a notch, "you have to look at me."

Nothing. Sam's eyes were staring into Dean's amulet, hanging near his chest, dangling left and right when Dean moved.

"Alright, O.K., just let me check you over, alright? It's O.K, alright?"

The old oak was _shhhhhhing_ Sam when Dean raised his hand to look at Sam's pupils, gripped his cheeks, lingered his fingers on Sam's neck, when he let go of the pulse point on Sam's wrist, _still too fast_: "Calm down, Sam, 's O.K."

He ran his hands down Sam's shoulders, down his arms to his hands where he was met by a few bruises and some splinters. The blood was dry by now, but the dirt was still there and the splinters too. Sam's elbow was scraped too, the tiny bloody strips of skin hanging from the bruise and Dean touched them. Sam flinched and tried to pull his hand away from Dean, but Dean just pulled back: "'m sorry."

And that was enough for Sam to go limp again.

Dean made a mental note of every scrape and bruise Sam had. Every last one of them. Sam didn't flinch when he touched his chest, when he touched his back, when he touched his ribs, _great, nothing broken, 's good_. He took a good look at Sam's knee, tracing his hands down Sam's legs to his ankles.

Sam never flinched again.

**--**

**TBC…**


	4. Chapter 4

**I am so sorry that this took sooooooo long….my life is just a maze of crazy days right now. This is kind of short, but I do hope you'll like it. If not, please tell me, so that I can do better next time. And please ignore all the grammar mistakes, I'm embarrassed enough as it is.  
**

**And please check out Darksupernatural's profile (she is just an awesome, awesome writer, the stories she comes up with…amazing!!) and a story called MOMENTS IN TIME…I'm co writing it with her, and it's like one chapter is hers and one is mine (I suck at explaining things, always have, always will)…if you go there, you'll see what I mean, coz, she's better at explaining things…and if you like what you read, let us know. Thank you very much!**

**And now, please… **

**Enjoy…**

**-- **

The smell of mushrooms was invading Sam's nose, tickling his tongue when he breathed in. The smell was thick and almost acid when it touched his throat.

"Calm down, Sam." an order that was enveloped in a whisper.

Sam breathed…fast and deep, almost gulping down the warm summer air, saturated with insects and dust, and that smell of decaying leaves.

But he breathed…he had to even if his chest hurt and his throat burned.

He wanted to call out to his brother, call out for Dean, but the wind that blew through the trees made him sleepy, made his brain too lazy to keep functioning.

_Help me, boy…_

A wish formed somewhere along the way…not to be here in the forest with Dean crouching in front of him. Not to be the object of Dean's big brother eyes, trying to see it all, trying to crawl inside of him and make it alright. He wanted to shy away from everything…just go.

_Help me, boy…_

He breathed, expanded his chest to the point where it almost hurt…he could feel the air scraping his throat, until it settled in his lungs. And they burned…flames that licked his body from his lugs to his nose and mouth.

"Calm down, Sam or I swear…" _'m gonna knock you out. _

_Help me, boy_…and he couldn't see Dean's eyes through the words whispered to him. He felt them though, but couldn't see them through the tears that were stuck to his eyes…he didn't want them to fall; that would be showing weakness, and that was simply not allowed. Not even here in the middle of the woods, in the middle of nowhere, with only his brother by his side. No weakness…ever.

The leaves _shhhhhhhed_ again, and Sam heard the _calm down_, over the roaring in his ears, _calm down_ over the darkness that he found himself in.

The soft flow of the creek that could be heard from somewhere near the car lulled him into Dean's hand that was gripping him tight. It was so warm there, so soft, but hard too, but soft…and familiar. The touch, the hand, the strength, the unspoken _I'll fix this, Sam_. He leaned into the hand, rearranged his weight so that Dean took the most of it. Trusting Dean to take it all, to support, to fix it.

_Calm down, Sam_…and before he knew it, he did. He eased himself into the touch, into the words his brother was saying to him over the annoying…_help me, boy_.

"Alright, alright…feel better now?"

Sam didn't nod, didn't even acknowledge that words were being spoken to him…and the trees _shhhhhhhed_ again.

_Go to the point, Dean,_ "So your elbow, knees and hands?" _and your soul…awesome._

Dean could see Sam's eyes, shining in the moonlight, almost saw the moon in them, large and shiny as they were. There was hair in Sam's eyes, sweat running down his cheeks, little drops of it gathering on his top lip.

"We'll fix that, okay?!" _and your soul, don't worry._

He contemplated on IF he should leave Sam like this, to get the first aid kit, contemplated on IF he leaves Sam alone for a second, what would that do to Sam, contemplated on IF he leaves Sam just to round the car, what would Sam's reaction be.

Dean knew that the injuries could wait until they got to the motel, knew they weren't dangerous…kids get away with much worse, BUT this was Sam…it wasn't just some kid from down the block, it was his baby brother…hurt. Hurt in places he didn't want Sam to be hurt. Hurt in his soul. A simple band aid won't fix that…

There was a time when the presence of Dean was lost to Sam…the strong grip, the soft warmth, the sight on Dean's amulet, a breathing to match his own too, the smell of sweat that mixed with the smell of washing detergent…it was all gone. Replaced with _Help, me boy_…

And in that time, the time when Dean was gone, there was the big old oak and darkness that the moon made alive. The silver rays were licking the leaves, pushed among them to shine directly on the car…Sam…Dean…the oak.

The light shone directly into Sam's eyes, the big round moon watching itself in his tears, that threatened to fall, but never would…not now. Not yet.

He studied the leaves and the needles and the pebbles and the soft grass that was laying beneath his shoes. Grazing the forest floor with his shoes, unconsciously kicking at twigs, Sam heard…_help me, boy_.

Dean was gone, the amulet gone, the breathing gone, the smell of Dean gone, it was all gone, but…_help me, boy_.

The small droplets of sweat that were running down his cheeks, were tickling him, but to raise his hand…too hard.

They were running down his back too, but to wipe it away…to difficult.

The hair that got a permanent job of being plastered on his forehead, was slipping in his eyes, carrying the sweat with them and it burned, but to push them aside…too much work.

He could feel his shirt and how it was stuck to his skin, wet and itchy. He wanted to take it off…to demanding.

In the silence of the darkness, where even the birds found their peace, Sam heard only one thing…_help me, boy._

There was a sharp wind that grazed his face when Dean came back, when the amulet started swinging in front of his eyes again, when the smell came back to overpower the strong mushroom taste, that settled in his mouth.

"You okay?" Dean smiled to Sam and crouched between Sam's thighs… but Sam was staring at something in front of him, his eyes shining with tears…but none of them fell…they were just there, in the corners of his eyes…just there.

Somewhere along the way, Sam tangled up his fingers, intertwined them with the hem of his shirt and clenched it with the force that turned his knuckles white as snow.

"Sam, 'm just gonna take your hands, okay?" he tried to keep his voice soft, the only sound that was louder then his voice, was the running water in the creek.

Sam lost his eyes in the sweat patches on Dean's T-shirt…small patches; with no apparent shape…twelve of them…Sam counted. One looked like a flower though…weird.

Sam's hands were pliant, heavy and when Dean reached for them, Sam flinched and pulled back.

"Sammy, 'm not gonna hurt you, just let me look." quietly and softly.

Sam blinked, but the tears still hang on to the edges of his eyes, not wanting to surrender…not yet.

"Sam," slow, steady move of his hand, "I'm just gonna look, really," closer, closer, closer, until he connected his warm hand with Sam's cold one, "see?"

It was Dean who flinched then, because Sam's hands were cold, icy cold, dead man cold…he rubbed them between his hands, being careful not to aggravate Sam's injuries.

Trying to restore some heat in Sam's hands, Dean thought about how crazy all of this was…he huffed; _Sam, God you're just a kid_.

He brushed his thumb over Sam's wrist, felt for his pulse beneath the soft and thin skin; _Shit, Sam still too fast_.

The heel's of Sam's hands were bloody and covered in dirt. Little strings of skin hang from the cuts, there were some splinters that were cutting Sam's skin apart, there was some grass there too, and small pebbles, that embodied themselves in the skin. It had to hurt…Dean knew that pain…it was a burn, the skinned flesh, full of dirt and dried up blood.

He will take care of the hands first, then the elbows and then the knees.

_Need to be careful, can't hurt Sam anymore then he's already hurt. Can't, can't, can't. _

Sam's hands suddenly became feather light and small in Dean's, and he almost felt like he would break them if he would hold onto them a little tighter.

There was a sting on his hand and Sam flinched and pulled. But Dean grabbed his wrist and pulled back.

"Sam, hey, 'm just gonna clean it."

Silence.

The sting continued for a while and Sam almost surrendered to the lull of the wind…almost.

When there was a tug and a pinch on his hands Sam came back and flinched again.

"Splinters Sam…" an apology was in that sentence, and if Sam was…here…he would say _back off, Dean_.

Silence.

Another pinch and a sharp pull and he saw how Dean was straining his body…the third patch of sweat moved.

Another pinch and tug and Sam saw the amulet swing in a different way.

At the seventh pinch and pull, Sam hissed.

"Sorry, sorry, 's O.K., Sammy."

But all Sam heard was _help me, boy_, with that awful hissing voice, that made him shudder.

"You cold?"

Silence.

"Sam?! You cold?"

Silence.

_Alright, Sam's going into shock, alright, just don't freak out, we'll fix this. Fix this, yeah…_

"Sam, listen," he let go of Sam's hands and cupped Sam's chin in his hand…the skin there was cold and clammy, "Sam, look at me. Come on."

The eyes that Dean possessed were green, Sam knew that…but when he looked at them, finally looked at them, he saw concern and fear. He saw that as clearly as a bell. And it hurt.

"Hey, Sam," and Sam lowered his eyes again, searching for his favorite, the ninth patch of sweat on Dean's T-shirt, the one near his heart, "Sam, come on, no, no, no, come on…look at me."

Dean's heart broke…broke into so many peaces; the number was not even discovered yet in the world. The look he saw in Sam, the shiny eyes, the deep brownness, the sorrow and the pain…and he almost cried himself. Cried for his baby brother, that really shouldn't see that…hunt. Shouldn't be involved in this hunt…not this soon. Not yet. There was a time and a place for everything and for Sam this was not the time and not the place.

_And why the hell didn't Sam listen to Dad and just stayed put?!_

Sam found the ninth patch of sweat and saw how it rose up and how it fell down. It came up, and fell down. Steady, steadier than his shirt did, because he could feel his shirt...going up and down, faster than Dean's…way to fast…not right, not right, it should be slower, like Dean's…slower.

"Sam?" worried.

Silence and the wind.

"Sam, wha…?"

Before he could react, before he could finish the sentence, Sam's cold, sweat and blood covered hand touched his chest. Right above his heart.

"Sam?" he searched his brother's face, as much as he could see…not that there was a lot to see, but…fear turned into trust, confusion turned into hope, pain turned into _fix me_ and Sam's breathing calmed down to normal.

Dean could feel Sam's long, bony fingers starting to close together and before he knew it, Sam got a good grip on his shirt. His knuckles were pushing inside of his chest, the pressure too strong, like Sam was actually trying to reach his heart, but the bone prevented him to do so. And it hurt, kind of, but this was Sam…

"Sam, you're alright, you're gonna be alright."

And then, right there and right then, with Dean's heart as a steady beat underneath his hand, Sam stopped hearing the man's voice. Stopped hearing that dreadful scratchy voice, the whisper of _help me, boy_.

"Dean…" it came out breathless, but it was enough to be overheard over the creek, the wind and an awoken cricket.

"Sam?"

Dean looked at his brother, cupped his face in his shaking hands and squeezed hard enough to turn Sam's mouth into a pout.

"Sam?"

And when Sam's eyes rolled back, when white was all that was seen, when his body swayed and became light, like it didn't have a bone in it, Dean could have sworn he heard the moon say: "You weren't fast enough. He saw, he heard, he felt…"

"Sam!!"

One tear fell from Sam's eye, one lonely tear that ran slowly down his cheek, right over his mole, mixing with the sweat already there, and made it's resting place on Dean's shoulder, when Sam fell on it.

"Sammy!!"

**--**

**TBC**


	5. Chapter 5

**I did it, I did it...I updated!!! I can not believe it...I think I'm even more excited then you, my lovely readers. I have never ever written a story as I go, so this is a WIP and I'm going wherever and whenever the story is taking me THAT is why this updates take so looong. I'm really honored that you are all going along with me, so...come…**

**Enjoy…**

**---**

The first aid kit fell from Dean's thighs and made a weird noise when it hit the ground or maybe it hit Sam's sneakers, Dean couldn't be sure. His line of vision was his baby brother's hair at the moment, his ears in tune with Sam's breathing…everything else was nonexistent. Not even the pesky mosquito that made its task to drink all the blood out of Dean's body.

The gauze he'd been using to clean Sam up, fell on the floor too, but made no noise. There was nothing to break the silence of Dean holding his baby brother in his arms, the tiny body, the bones and flesh, held him for all his life was worth, didn't hear the creek, didn't hear the cricket, didn't hear the mosquitoes, didn't pay any attention to the mocking of the moon: "You weren't fast enough. He saw, he heard, he felt…"

_Screw you, lady…_

He tightened his hold for a split second, his palm flat on the middle of Sam's back, feeling the sweat drenching Sam's shirt, felt the little, barely there tremors that slipped up and down Sam's spine, when he breathed. He shifted his left hand, slid it up to the back of Sam's neck. The hair there, the soft curls were still soaking wet, and he intertwined his fingers with them. Just a quick hug, no one needs to know.

"Hold him, boy, or you'll loose him." the trees whispered, when the wind picked up speed, when the hot breeze twirled around his ears.

_I know… _

The darkness was thick with little silver patches of light that the moon gave away to brighten up the scenery. Thin rays of light cut through Sam's wayward hair, to make their peace on the black back seat of the car. The narrow beams of light were cutting between the tree branches to cut Dean's heart in little peaces…to get lost into the forest ground.

He shook Sam, shook him lightly, barely a touch and Sam didn't notice…didn't stir, didn't even breathe out wrong. He just…was…there, a warm, solid presence on Dean's chest, pressing his chest to his, sharing warmth and cold, breath and heartbeats.

"Sam!"

No movement, no hitch in breath, nothing but silence and puffs of breath on Dean's neck, stirring the short hair at his nape. It tickled, the warm breath, the damp exhale.

_Well at least you're breathing, that has to count for something_.

"Sammy, wake up!"

He shook harder, twisting his hand on Sam's back, clenching his fingers into the fabric of Sam's T-shirt, probably tearing it apart, probably leaving bruises, squeezing the wet cotton between his fingers. He could have sworn that a little water dripped down his hand. Sam was sweating so much, too much and Dean knew that it wasn't just because of the hot night. It was fear and it was seeing and hearing something he was far too young to see and hear. Not yet anyway.

_Sammy, you are weird. And I'm right there with you. _

Sam's legs were between Dean's, a solid presence of warmth, his forehead a weight on Dean's shoulder and holding his brother like that, was…strange. It was…it felt as if even the darkness couldn't squeeze between them, no sound that could penetrate their bubble. It was a moment of being free…no one and nothing could disturb them and if it did, just for a second, Dean would snap. Its. Neck. Not one thought made him try to release Sam, he felt that if he would let go, if he would just breathe out wrong, Sam would disappear.

Sam was too young to see a man get…killed. He was just fifteen. A boy who has seen a lot and will see even more as his life would pass, but at fifteen…seeing a man get killed…too soon, too fast.

But that was not the only thing that made Sam like that…limp in his brother's arms. That was only a sick, sick side effect of…

"You have to wake him up…" the gentle wind told him, as it passed his nose, bringing with it the smell of mushrooms and clarity. It interrupted his thoughts; it interrupted his knowledge of what was going on, it brought him back to the matter in his hands…literally.

_You think I don't know that…_

"Sam, wake the hell up!"

Sam's silk soft hair was in his nose, in his eyes, in his mouth…_girl_y _shampoo_.

"Dean?!"

A hand touched his shoulder, a big, strong hand that could only belong to his father. It startled him, in his state of focusing only on Sam and nothing else. He jumped a little, unnoticed to his Dad, but Sam's hand dropped a little to his knee. It was a heavy presence, Sam's hand…a reminder that Sam was born with bones and limbs…limbs that were just 'unconscious' at the moment.

"Dad?"

He untangled himself from the privacy he had, holding his baby brother in his hands, like so many years ago and like every day since. And now his Dad was here, breaking the silence, breaking the easiness of clinging to Sam, breaking the loneliness…the darkness.

"What happened?"

John's voice stopped the rotation of Dean's world, stopped the panic that was slowly rising up Dean's spine, and before everything could collide together there was his Dad to fix things.

_Finally._

Before Dean knew what was going on, Sam's steady warm weight was removed from his hold, torn away from his hands that made a whoosh movement in the air, chasing Sam's body to hold again, but only finding hot summer air instead.

He was pushed aside, pushed away from Sam, pushed into the hard, warm ground. His hands found purchase in the dead leaves and needles that pinched his palm. His behind found a 'cozy' spot to sit on, a stone, that was turned way, way wrong. He shifted when he saw his Dad holding Sam. Holding him…hard. Bruising.

"Sam?"

Whereas Dean's hands were gentle and soft, almost feather light in their pressure, John's were hard, rough and breaking bones. Dean observed his Dad running his hands over Sam's body, obviously checking for injuries, obviously being too rough, too hard on Sam and it made Dean's blood boil. He fisted his hands and gripped the ground, the tinny needles pushed themselves into his palm, underneath his fingernails, but…

"Dad, he's fine. Just some scrapes and bruises. Sir."

The creek almost stopped, almost ran out of water, the moon hid behind a cloud, that was almost sheep shaped, the trees stopped _shhhhhhing _and Sam stirred.

"Dean, he's unconscious." John said the words that were dripping with worry and they were said to Dean like he was responsible for it.

"Your fault Sammy is like that." The moon laughed when it peeked out from behind the cloud.

_I know, I know, I know…_

John sighed and grabbed Sam by the shoulders, softly now, Dean could tell, and dragged him into the backseat of the Impala. Tucking his long legs in and wiping the sweat covered hair from his forehead, John murmured something that sounded suspiciously like _'s fine, boy, you're gonna be fine. _

Dean rose from the floor, his jeans covered with dirt, his hands scraped a little, but nothing time wouldn't fix, and made his way to his father's side.

Standing there, in the silver darkness of the hot summer night that was turning achingly slow into dawn, side by side with his Dad, looking at Sam…made something right in Dean. Repaired a particle of him, he didn't even know was broken.

Sam was…silent and still. The only thing of his that was moving was his chest. The hand that laid splayed on his stomach was twitching, like it was tapping to a beat. A beat neither of them knew.

"He's alive, boy." The trees concluded for Dean, when the soft wind rustled their leaves.

_Yeah, yeah he is…_

It was a different kind of privacy standing like this, with his Dad watching Sam. It only lasted for a few seconds, but to Dean it seemed minutes before he got the urge to say something.

"He's," _scared, unconscious, hurt, not here, catatonic, asleep, breathing, alive, passed out, he saw_, "I don't know."

The words felt foreign to him, felt strange in the stillness of the dark forest, it felt like he spoke them out too loud. It felt as if he broke the golden rule of 'keep it silent'.

"Well I do. Come on, let's go."

John rounded the car when Dean picked up the first aid kit and threw it on the floor of the front seat when he sat down. He turned around to look at Sam, sprawled in the back seat, his chest rising up and down, fast, slow…so slow and too fast, so fast and too slow. His mouth was open, catching the night between his lips.

Dean looked up front, when the Impala roared to life and absentmindedly scratched the spot where the mosquito found its snack.

"What did you do to the body?"

"The usual."

"Good."

_Now all we have to do is fix Sam._

Dean clenched his jaw, mimicking John. He wanted to be the one driving, he wanted to be the one who would grip the steering wheel until his knuckles would turn white and break. He wanted to be the one to feel the strength of the Impala…he wanted to be the one who would fix Sam.

"Can't save him!" the moon mocked from the sky.

_Shut the hell up, bitch!_

**---**

**TBC…**

**Is it just me or do you have the feeling like I'm not answering any major plot questions? If the answer is yes, well then, I'm doing my job properly. If the answer is no, then you know something I don't and it would be awesome if you would tell me what you know. **


	6. Chapter 6

**Hi…I…hmmm…updated!!! I'm very proud of myself **_big grin_**. I'm sooooo sorry for the long wait. So sorry. **

**I just want to say THANK YOU to everyone who reviewed or put the story on alerts…I'm really happy that this story is being read…awesome!!! And to Anne and Leela, I can't reply to you, so I just want to say thank you for your reviews, they mean a lot to me, as do all of the reviews!!! **

**Please forgive me for all the mistakes, grammar and otherwise, okay? Please!!! **

**And this is short I know, but I really hope you understand. Sam is lost , but I know what I'm doing, muuaaahahahaha, LOL.**

**So…now…**

…**enjoy…**

**---**

He was swimming in a steady flow of touches; soft and familiar and warm on his already warm skin, voices; deep and barely grazing his brain and sounds that he couldn't pile into anything and _could they just please shut up_?!

"_Sam's fine, Dean."_

Shut up, shut up, shut up…

"_I know he is, it's just…"_

Dean…

"_It was close, I know, but it's fine now."_

Dad…

"_He was out of this world, Dad. He passed out twice."_

Dean…

"_I know, but he just needs to wake up, he'll be fine."_

Dad…

"_I know."_

He wanted to touch his brother's voice, physically touch it, wrap himself around the warmth of it and let himself be pulled up from the bright darkness he was currently in.

Dean, the woods, running, barely able to breathe, barely able to move, his brother's arms around him, pushing him, falling down and getting back up…and the man.

Even with his eyes tightly shut, in a state where the outside world is just a humming thunder, he could see white little spots dancing, circling the man lying on the floor. Dark eyes and a smirk on his face…_help me, boy_ stuck in his mouth.

"_He just needs to wake up, Dean."_

Dad…

"_Yeah, Sir."_

Dean…

The words seeped into his mind, but they were still too thin to actually touch them and grasp their meaning. Like sand sipping from his fingers, warm sand, soft sand…but they were there, along with the smell of the Impala that drowned out the smell of death.

-:-

His brother was too pale and too still on the back seat. The only movement on Sam was the moonlight that was slowly caressing his hair, the brownness of them almost turning gray under the mother light touches of the silver rays. His hand, that was lying still on his chest, was rising up and down with the shallow sleepy breaths he was barely pulling in. Eyes closed, those shiny big eyes that cut into Dean every time he looked into them, mouth slightly opened, a thin line of saliva running from his mouth. _Gonna tease you about that, Sammy. _

When the car hit just the right angle and the moon spread over Sam, Dean saw how much Sam was sweating. His hair was plastered to his forehead, his cheeks unnaturally wet and pink, tinny drops of sweat running down his neck to be soaked up by his T-shirt.

His jeans were still torn by his knees, splattered with blood and dirt, loose fabric hanging down his leg.

_Have to clean that later, Sammy…_

"How far are we?"

"Not far."

Dean clenched his jaw and nodded. Leaving Sam in the privacy of the back seat, he looked out the front window, the car's headlights like two flashlights on the narrow road, going fast, faster then he could comprehend, almost making him nauseous…riding through a tunnel of trees, tunnel of darkness and Dean thought about where Sam was…stuck in the darkness of unconsciousness. Stuck with that man _maybe_, stuck with the memories _surely_ and he knew it would be a long way to get Sam back.

A groan from the back seat and his head automatically spun around to that sound. The sound of his baby brother finally starting to come around. But it was just one groan, one lonely sound in the too silent car, only one little sign that Sam was alive and well, just…not here at the moment. Not here at all.

Dean slowly returned his gaze to the front window, a little disappointed in the fact that Sam hadn't woken up yet. On his way to watch the black road again, he stopped his eyes briefly on his Dad…a steady tickle of sweat running down his dirty cheek, his hair a mess, his clothes dirty and smelly, his jaw clenched tight, his eyes narrowed on the road, his knuckles white on the steering wheel…either he was pissed or he was worried. With his Dad, it could go both ways.

Letting out a breath he wasn't even sure when it got stuck in his lungs, he saw the first drop of rain on the windshield. One lonely drop of rain on a hot summer night, slipping down the window, slipping down right before his eyes…like Sam. But he'll get Sam back…the rain drop will just have to die. Its how life is; not all things can be saved.

Like that man…the man that took something from Sam, that took his innocence…that _cursed _him.

One sigh from behind made Dean jump. It was like a knife pushed into his back…a simple sigh, a breath , that meant nothing in the big scale of things. Just…life.

He twisted his neck again to look at Sam, but Sam's eyes were still closed, the rapid movement of them behind his eyelids a sure sign that Sam was caught in something…something Dean just couldn't get to.

"How far, Sir?"

John flinched, he wasn't expecting any words to come from Dean, he just assumed that Dean was in his own little world…but life does teach you to never assume things. Especially not with your own children.

"Not far. How's Sam?"

He wanted to look at Sam, wanted to see how his baby boy was doing, but keeping his eyes on the road was more important at the moment. No need to crash the car. He would just have to do with whatever Dean would tell him.

"The same."

Which was not much at the moment, but it was enough to get him by.

That one little drop of rain, that Dean watched slip down the window, turned into another one, and another one, and another one until it all turned into a real summer storm. Thunder and lightning included. Thunder that shook the car and lightning that illuminated the paleness of Sam's skin.

-:-

"Dean!!!" Sam cried out, oblivious to the fact that screaming was doing no good. Every time he screamed, he just got pushed further into the man's eyes, further into the pleadings of _help me, boy_. And that place was burning him…burning his throat, his chest, his heart, his skin felt as if it was spilled with acid.

He stood there, on the spot, not even knowing where _there _was, stood like that like glued. All darkness around him and white spots dancing before his eyes.

He could hear his brother and his Dad, talking to each other, like he wasn't there. Wasn't he there? He wasn't there…he wasn't there. The panic overtook him, overtook his mind and gripped it tight, almost turning it to mush…Dean and Dad were somewhere and he wasn't there.

"Dean!!!"

No words, no _I'm here, Sammy_, no soothing touches and no soothing words, just _how far, Sir_ spoken with Dean's deep voice. How far to what? How far to what, Dean? Dean?

"Dean!!!"

He couldn't breathe. There was no air in the darkness, there was no wind, there was no sound, no touches. No Dean and no Dad…just bare nothingness with the man's gaze that was slowly pushing him to his knees. A pressure on his body that forced him on his knees. There was no moon here, no trees, no breeze to_ shhhhhhhhh_ him, no softness of leaves under his shoes...just nothingness all around him. And the man, lying mere inches from where he stood.

There was nothing he could say to the man, nothing to say really and nothing to do…he just let himself be pushed on his knees and kneel.

And kneeled, he did.

When his knees hit the ground, he started sinking…like sinking into mud, like…quick sand.

He swallowed down the fear, he swallowed down bile that was slowly raising up his throat, he swallowed around the burn in his chest and screamed. He didn't want to sink anywhere; he didn't want to die, he didn't want to die…

"But _I_ died, boy." sing song voice and display of teeth, bloody and rotten…

He couldn't breathe over a pressure on his chest, his knees sinking further and further into the quick sand, it was like they were on fire…his throat raw from screaming his brother's name, his arms pinned to his side, the skin on his palms felt like someone was skinning him alive, his mouth opened but the scream of his brother's name was muffled…no, no, no, no, no…

"Dean!!!" It echoed through the stillness of the darkness, hitting something and returning to haunt him...a scream for his brother, with his voice, with his panicked little voice...like a bumerang hitting his ears...taunting him, mocking him...

...until there was a sound, a humming sound, a sound he would recognize anywhere, a voice he wanted to grab and never let go...

-:-

"Sam!"

**---**

**TBC**


	7. Chapter 7

**Ummm, hi!**_ Bites lip_** I have no excuse, really. I just hope someone out there is still reading this story. If so I just wanna thank you!!!!**

**Ahm, nothing much happens in this chapter, but you do get the answer to WTH is going on…well I answered to that question in my previous chapter, but no one noticed it. **_shrugs_** Maybe I'm just really good at keeping things mysterious, idk. LOL**

**So here it is….**

…**enjoy...**

**---**

The feather light rain drops were knocking on the window of the motel room. The sound was in tune with Dean's heartbeat, _thump, thump, thump_…steady in the fear that settled in him. It was soothing in a way…a soft _cluck, cluck, cluck_…a soothing whisper of calmness in the quiet room.

The storm was fallowing them the whole ride to the motel…strong thunder and bright lightning, small rain drops like tears running down the windshield of the Impala.

Dean wanted to stay in the safety of the black car, wanted his Dad to just drive away…anywhere but to the motel room where it all started.

-:-

"Why does Sam have to go?" he stuffed his hands in his pockets, twirling the loose threads in them with his fingers.

"We can't leave him here alone and I need you on this hunt."

John said in a monotone voice, not raising his eyes from his diary that was lying wide open on the table.

Dean had it on the edge of his tongue, words like 'he's old enough to wait here', 'he can't go on a hunt, not yet', 'he's to young to go on _this _hunt', 'I want him to stay here, safe', but this was his Dad and you don't question your Dad.

Something fell in the bathroom and Dean was just about to ask '_what the hell_' when Sam yelled: "'m fine!"

Dean smirked…_dork_.

A few minutes later, when Sam emerged form the bathroom, smelling of soap and way too much washing detergent, Dean was already waiting for him with his hand on the door knob and a sad smile on his lips.

"Sam!"

"Yeah, what?!"

"Come on, we're going."

Dean could actually see how Sam gulped down a bucket of saliva. The kid didn't even have time to realise that this was real, that this hunt was gonna happen. It was like something died in Sam's eyes, the moment Dean said that.

"Now?"

"Yeah…"

"You sure?"

_What kind of a question is that?_

"Yes, we're gonna kill the b…witch just the way she deserves. Now come on. Dad's packing the stuff into the car. Move your ass."

A beat of a heart in the silence…

"Do I have to go?" the softness of the voice and the big brown eyes stopped Dean in his track. He breathed out…a long breath: "Sam, come on."

He didn't know what else to say to his brother that was nervously standing by the bed. He could lie and say 'no, you can stay here', but…yeah.

"Dean…" he whined, trying to change the unavoidable.

"Sam, just," he wanted to be pissed at Sam, wanted to scream at him for acting like a whiny little brat, wanted to tell him that he didn't want Sam on this hunt, wanted to do anything that would prevent Sam to go with them…but those eyes Sam wore mixing with his Dad's words, made him soften his voice: "Come on."

He waited for his brother to step closer to him, closer to the door. He brushed along Sam's shoulder…the bony arm and closed the door.

-:-

The room was dark except for a little lamp on the night stand that was bright enough to make the brownness of the room look almost…bearable. It was a warm colour that enveloped Dean, the colour of wood, the colour of warmness. He didn't want to turn on the main light in fear that it would be to strong for Sam when he would wake up.

_He will wake up…_

So he kept the room dim, trying to hide in the dusk of the light, trying so damn hard not to think about anything else but fixing Sam.

The lightning that illuminated the small room from time to time, raised shadows on the walls, shadows that constricted Dean's veins, made his blood run cold…long branches, like arms stretching over the ceiling, trying to grab Sam, the flutter of the curtain, the hum of the far away thunder, the small rain drops...it was all turning upside down in his mind, made everything twice as scary as it really was.

_Not scared…_

Sitting on the edge of the bed where Sam was sprawled on at the moment, Dean steadied his hand over Sam's bruised knee. His brother was so small; it was like the bed swallowed him in its softness. The only thing that was moving was Sam's chest…his T-shit worn thin, drenched in sweat and Dean knew he should change him, but the room was warm enough and Sam needed his knees, hands and elbows taken care off.

A thunder shook him; shook the bed, shook Sam…shook the room.

"Some storm we have here, Sammy."

He looked up at his brother's face, wet from sweat, even though he wiped it off just a minute ago. He reached his hand over Sam's chest, brushing away a stray, wet curl of Sam's hair from the kid's forehead.

Another thunder made its room in his chest, making it harder to breathe.

He swiped the cotton ball over Sam's knee, expecting a hiss from his brother, but there was nothing. Just…steady breathing and rapid movement of Sam's eyes beneath his eyelids.

The dried blood from Sam's scrapped knee coloured the cotton bright red, dark in places where the dirt came off too. And there was a lot of dirt there…dirt with blood, twigs, little pebbles…it was all embodied in Sam's knee.

"Where the Hell did you fall, Sam?"

Dean whispered into the quiet room, running the cotton over the scrapes, trying his best to clean off every piece that didn't belong there.

Sam was warm…sweaty…shaking…still…breathing…alive. And that was all that mattered. Everything else Dean would deal with when his brother would wake up.

Lightning that hit the room, was brighter than anything else Dean had ever seen and he contemplated on turning off the only light he dared to have on. But darkness…darkness would kill him and if Sam woke up in darkness…no, he couldn't do that.

He left the knee uncovered, leaving it to the warm room air to dry it.

The rain was unmercifully knocking on the window now…the summer storms are unpredictable like that…they start all nice and sweet and then they hit with all the power they truly posses.

Looking toward the window, and seeing the tiny drops sliding down, casting shadows on the wall, whenever a car passed by…he sighed and turned his attention back to Sam.

In the brownness of the room, Sam looked peaceful. Fragile, young, barely fifteen.

But that was only in the light of the room. Dean knew that Sam was not really like that. He was not fragile, he was not a normal fifteen years old boy…he was…just…sensitive.

The only normal on Sam was that he was a bitchy; pain in the ass little brother that always got the short stick of a hunt.

And what that _witch _did to him…he would kill the bitch all over again if he could. But his Dad took care of it. Everything was fine now, everything but Sam. Everything but his baby brother that was stuck in God knows what nightmare. He needed to talk to Sam, needed to hear his brother speak; needed to know what Sam saw, needed to make this alright. The need was so strong, he could choke on it.

He wiped away the sweat covering Sam's cheeks…they were clammy and warm, the skin slightly red, feverish, but not quite. Dean knew it was just a residue of the spell…and he knew that his Dad was taking care of that at the moment. Nothing to worry about…except for the wounds Sam was covered in.

He picked up Sam's left hand and started cleaning up the palm. He picked out some of the splinters earlier in the woods, but some were still in there. Deep under the skin. He could see them, tiny long pieces of wood under Sam's skin.

With a needle, the only thing available, he tried to pull them out. A needle going under Sam's skin, catching the splinter and pulling it out.

"Good, you're not awake for this, Sammy."

He smirked, knowing Sam…Sam would be squeezing tears out of his eyes with the restrain not to show pain. Maybe he would flinch too. Maybe. The kid was good in hiding his pain…_Hell, I thought him that_.

He wiped away the blood that came spilling out when he dug in for a particularly long splinter.

Sam's hand was boneless in Dean's, long bony fingers, sweaty, dirty and bloody. He tried not to look at the mess that was his brother's hand but it was so hard to push everything aside and just do his job in fixing Sam. And the thunder was not making it easy. It just made every thing more sinister.

He put away the needle when he was sure all the splinters were out and just as he tried to clean the wound a huff of air came from Sam's direction. He was struck with Sam's voice: "Dean!!!"

The sound of his name was almost lost into another thunder that vibrated through the room.

He all but fell off the bed; the only thing that kept him on it was Sam's warm hand that gripped his wrist in a death grip. He looked up from where Sam's hand was clutching his wrist, and saw Sam rose up on the bed, almost knocking his head into Dean's chest.

"Sam!" he whispered, not wanting to startle his brother.

"Dean!!!"

Not knowing what to do, but knowing that Sam can't be heard screaming like someone was butchering him, he dropped the gauze from his right hand and clamped it over Sam's mouth. In an instant Sam's other hand clutched his.

The look Sam gave him all lost and teary, big eyes that saw too much… soft gaze that scorched Dean.

"Shhhhh, shhh, shhh, Sammy. 's okay, 'm here."

The trees were shushing him, Dean was shushing him, everyone was shushing him, but all he wanted to do was scream…scream out his memories, just drown them in his brother's name…or Dad's.

He could feel Sam's struggle to scream, feel Sam trying to open his mouth but…he wasn't entirely sure Sam wouldn't scream if he let go. And he can't let go…can't let Sam scream. Not here. Not now.

"Sam?"

Those eyes with tears in them, spilling out, running down his brother's cheeks, straight onto his palm…they were cutting him in pieces.

"Sammy?"

He deepened his voice, lowered it to a soft whisper and looked at those eyes, trying so hard to seek out his brother in them.

"Sam, 'm gonna remove my hand but only if you promise me not to yell. Okay?"

He waited for a nod…he would wait for eternity. They couldn't afford anyone to hear them…a child screaming is a sure sign of trouble and soon all kind of people would come knocking at their door.

But the nod was stuck somewhere in Sam…in his sense of reality.

"Sammy, can I let you go?"

The tears mixing with sweat were running down his brother's face, and he didn't care. Teasing Sam about it was the last thing on his mind.

The thunder that shook both of them, made Sam scream over Dean's palm that was efficiently muffling the noise.

"Sam, look at me. Come on."

Sam did. He's been looking at his eyes the whole time, but Dean was not entirely sure Sam was actually seeing him and not something else. He didn't even wanna think what that something else could be…although he knew.

Dean nodded at Sam, a little sideway glance at his brother: "Sammy, hey it's me, okay? You're safe, we're in the motel room, Dad'll be here soon, you're alright, but I need you to calm down and don't scream. Nothing can hurt you here. Okay?"

He hoped _that_ would get the necessary nod he wanted from Sam.

Sam's breath quickened, his chest heaving like it was about to explode and Dean thought that this was it, that Sam was gonna pass out again and leave him alone again. Quick huffs of air were tickling the side of his palm, huffs of air Sam was blowing out of his nose…the sound of that little evidence of distress was echoing so laud in the room, Dean thought it could easily overpower the thunder.

He could feel Sam's hands tighten their grip on his hands, digging his fingernails into the soft skin of his wrist…

Sam could feel the bones in his Dean's wrist, crashing together, but he didn't care. He just needed to feel for himself that this wasn't a dream, that Dean was alive, that a simple heartbeat can make a difference between dreams and reality.

"Sam, just breathe…I'm gonna remove my hand and you're not gonna scream and then you're gonna lay down on the bed again, and you'll be fine. Understand?"

Over three beats of a heart and another thunder a nod came. The nod. It was hidden in such a delicate move of Sam's head that Dean would never have seen it, but he felt it on his hand that was holding Sam's mouth shut.

"Okay then."

He slowly removed his hand and grimaced when it came back all wet from Sam's saliva.

"You just had to drool over my hand, didn't ya?"

He placed his hand over Sam's heart, pushed his brother back down on the bed and by the way wiped his hand on Sam's shirt: "Drool boy."

He expected a smile from Sam, but all he got were opened eyes and a blank stare directed to the ceiling.

**---**

**TBC…**

**Oh and yeah I'm fully aware that I wrote a she witch and they killed a man. I know where I'm going with this****. **_Smiles_** Sort off, LOL. **


	8. Chapter 8

**Hi! ****I hope someone is still out there, **_knock, knock. _**LOL**

**Anyway****…so now that the holidays are over, and I've regained my senses (supposedly)…let's go back to business...I have Sam to 'save', darn it. And I can't believe that after so many stories that I've put on this site, I'm still so nervous when I put up another chapter or a story. God....it's really weird.  
**

**And I apologize for all grammar mistakes you're definitely gonna find!  
**

**Enjoy…**

**---**

Another thunder vibrated through the room making Sam close his eyes sluggishly, making the ochre ceiling darken slowly and escape under the darkness of his eyelids.

Thunder and lightning were never Sam's best friends; thunder made his chest ache for things he knew he would never have. And lightning…lightning illuminated things he really didn't want to see; like those sparks in Dean's eyes whenever he was hurting.

But darkness was much worse.

In the isolation of his closed eyes he could once again see the man lying on the floor, bloody, dirty and snarling at him, mocking him, telling him lies and wicked truths.

"Sam!!" fallowed by a touch of a strong hand on his shoulder; the heath coming from the open palm spread over the bone of his shoulder intensifying his shivers but at the same time the touch brought him back to the room, his eyes snapping open, making Dean retreat his hand like it was burned. And it was…with the dark brownness in Sam's eyes, thick eyelashes rubbing his brows.

"Sam? Ya with me?" he never thought his deep voice would ever be so soft again. But it was…not wanting to scare his brother, or interrupt the quiet of the room.

Sam didn't look at him, probably not even acknowledging his presence in the room. Which made everything worse…his little brother was awake, but not really present; he was staring at the ceiling, probably seeing nothing but that witch, he was lying so still, the only things moving were his chest and eyes. Drawing in breath and blinking.

"Sammy?" still keeping his voice in a whisper; not wanting to break the privacy the silence gave them.

Two quick thunders struck before Sam rotated his head to look at Dean. The rustling sound of Sam's hair on the pillow was the loudest thing the room heard in a while.

Fifty-three heart beats for him to look into Dean's eyes; Sam's eyes were pools of brownness and unshed tears.

Five quick breaths for Sam to blink and open his mouth, making a smacking noise with his lips.

"Thirsty?"

One lightning for a nod to come.

"Here."

Dean had a glass ready just in case. A glass of water, sitting on the night stand, probably leaving a permanent impression on the fake wood. It was standing there since…forever…the water in it probably warm and stale. But he didn't want to leave Sam's side to go fetch for fresh water, didn't want to leave the soft spot on Sam's bed.

He helped Sam sit up, one hand pulling at his arms; his grip slipping on Sam's sweaty skin and the other sneaking behind Sam's neck to settle lightly on his nape. The curly hair there was still damp, the skin still clammy and warm.

Sam gulped down the water like his life depended on it, and spilled some on his T-shirt, apologizing with his finger touching Dean's on the glass.

"Slow down or choke."

Sam coughed, probably out of laughter, but his lips never developed a full on smile.

The empty glass was placed on the night stand to be forgotten until the cleaning lady would come to clean up the room. One day when they'll be far, far away from this place.

"What happened?" Sam whispered over the ticklish noises of rain drops hitting the window.

His voice was thick and breaking, like it hadn't been used in ages. It startled Dean, the voice he hadn't heard in almost a day…_a day_…a voice speaking two simple words that in the rainy darkness made Dean's head spin.

What to say? How…to…say it? Truth? Lies? Breaking or fixing? Sam's mop of hair was hiding his eyes, but Dean could tell there were tears in them. Cold tears, salty and reflecting pain, he really didn't want to…he needed to fix it. The pain…he needed to make it better.

_Where the Hell'__s Dad? _

"A spell, Sam."

A thunder.

"I know that, I mean what happened?" breathless.

_Okay, Sam is coherent, good, good…that's good.__ He knows?_

"You know?"

"I…we were hunting a witch, Dean. It's kind of a given." Sam's fingers twitched on his chest, hand making a fist over his heart.

_Okay?!__ What?!_

"What?!"

The rain drops were slowly making their way down the window, casting shadows on the wall that looked like little thorns. Little thorns lodged in the walls...some shadows fell on Sam's hands, chest, face. It was like his skin was crying shadows of the rain drops.

"Witches curse people, you know."

"Ah, yeah I know." He raised his brows, but Sam made no indication that he wanted to continue that particular conversation.

"What happened? In the woods? Dean?"

Sam's eyes were burning pits of sadness...of need...of 'Dean please make it alright'.

"Ah, me and Dad," he paused, fighting with himself about how much he should say and how much he should just burry deep inside, "we went after the witch…she ran…we caught her…she…"

The flash of lightning that briefly illuminated Sam's face stopped Dean. Those shadows dispearsed quickly, showing Dean how pale Sam's skin was.

"Sam?"

"'m fine, just tell me."

It was anger and Dean understood. He did.

"Ah, well, we put her down. And then…you came."

Sam shivered, but not from the cold, because it was hot as Hell in the room. It was memories, it was reliving, it was…Sam's way of dealing, that send shivers up and down Sam's body.

Dean pulled in a deep breath: "Sam…why_ did_ you come? We told you to stay put."

One long thunder…the noise settled in the room…a thick presence of fear.

"I heard the gun and I…"

He slowly unclenched his fist and grabbed his shirt, fisting the fabric until his knuckles turned white. He looked at Dean's chest, his eyes looking for that ninth patch of sweat that anchored him in the forest…a patch of sweat near Dean's heart…that wasn't there now.

"We told you to stay…"

He wasn't angry, wasn't trying to pick up a fight, wasn't trying to stress the kid out…he just wanted to understand what made Sam come.

"I couldn't, okay!" the voice broke the silence, and Dean thought he felt the room flinch, but it was just him, "I heard a shot, I heard two of them and…" _two shots, two shots…one for you and one for Dad._

Dean left out the breath: "Okay…" _I get it. _

Sam closed his eyes again, slowly tuning out the ceiling and Dean's eyes that were burning into his. He wanted to block everything out, just…forget about it.

Now that he didn't have that ninth patch of sweat to concentrate on…he just wanted Dean to leave him alone.

One lightning later and his eyes were snapping open again. Dean's steady breathing was the noise that was lulling him into ideas, thoughts, images of the forest and that man. And he didn't want that…he wanted Dean to leave him alone…take his breathing and leave.

"I'm fine…just leave me alone."

The words hurt Dean more then any punch ever could. _Leave me alone_…simple words, three words, little words, but with a meaning so painful his heart skipped a beat.

"Sam?"

"I just want to sleep."

Rotating his body away from Dean, showing him his back, Sam hissed when the position pulled on his scrapes and bruises. He closed his eyes and the darkness pushed him into memories…into the forest, near the man…kneeling before him, Sam saw that he wasn't a man…it was a girl, a witch, laughing at him with shiny white teeth and red lipstick stuck on her lips. Like blood.

Dean knew the conversation was over. Sam is stubborn…like Dad. When the kid gets something in his head…that's the way it's gonna be.

He got up from Sam's bed and went to lay down on his own. Lying on his back, with his hand covering his eyes, he sighed.

Sleep won't come easy, that much he knew but when he heard Sam's breathing easing into something of a lullaby, his eyes started to drift close.

The storm was far away, hitting another city, the rain easing into thin fog, the night slowly becoming dawn…lazy, red dawn.

When the sun was barely peeking up from the horizon, stretching his rays over the rain soaked pavement, Sam's throat was scraped by a noise, a scream that woke Dean and almost send him flaying on the floor. Face first.

---

**TBC...**

**I think that the next chapter will be the last...although this story was supposed to be only a one shot, so... **_blushes_


	9. Chapter 9

**Don't hate me…life sucks. But this is the new chapter and boy do I have news for you…it's not the last one. I don't know…the story just took a life of its own…I can't help it. I ****hope you're still with me, but if not, I totally understand. And this is short, but it's all I have.  
**

**I still don't own anything but the grammar mistakes are all mine. **

**Enjoy**

**----**

A thin mist was caressing the pavement of the parking lot; cars were loosing their tires in the wet thing, trees were being swept away by the soft arms of the wicked fog, garbage cans were being raided by cats in search of food and inside motel room number 8 Sam was loosing his hands in Dean's shirt, fighting for purchase in the thin material.

"I gotcha, Sammy…" were the words whispered in Sam's hair, in his shoulder, near his ear. They were the only words that made sense to Dean at the moment and saying something else…would be a lie.

He didn't know exactly what made Sam scream, but he had a good idea of what might have been. The witch, the memories, the whole night…it was all being pushed on Sam through his dreams and finally falling under the weight of it all made Sam wake up with a scream. The tough Sam from before was a coping mechanism and Dean was counting his lucky stars that Sam came to his senses.

_Where the __Hell's Dad?!_

Holding onto his little brother wasn't easy; the shaking bones and skin kept slipping out of his grip, but when Sam's hands grabbed at the back of his shirt, his fingers digging into his skin, Dean knew Sam found his purchase and that all he needed to do now was hold on tight and wait.

But waiting...waiting is the hardest part. Waiting has this sweet pain wrapped around it that makes your breath hitch every time you think that the waiting is over.

"Sam…" Dean's voice sounded hoarse, even to his own ears…the silence that sneaked inside the room, was making him try to hide his voice, just so that he wouldn't disturb a thing.

Sam was more vocal…noises that seemed like little sobs were muffled by Dean's shirt. Tears getting lost in the cotton, puffs of air warm on his skin.

"Sammy…hey…" he grabbed Sam's arms, putting no pressure on them, feeling little tremors beneath Sam's skin. He pushed him away from himself, but Sam's fists wouldn't unclench: "Sam, Sammy, come on…let go of me."

It broke his heart to say that to his little brother, but sometimes tough love is the way to go.

Sam took a breath and shook; his whole body shook like it was vibrating and Dean almost pulled him back to himself.

Holding his brother in arms length, Sam's red, cried out eyes and tears still held by his eyelashes, Dean tilted his head sideways and sighed.

"Sam talk to me. Just…what happened!? Huh?"

Sam's hair was in his eyes, traces of tears still on his flushed cheeks, his body shaking; light tremors, like small waves on a lake.

"Hmmmm…Sam, come on." Dean practically begged with the faintest of sound, but all he really wanted to do was shake Sam and yell at him.

But that was not the proper way…not by the look on Sam's face…fear. He shattered inside when Sam's eyes locked with his. There was something in them, an emotion, something, some unidentified thing, that freaked Dean out.

Dean has freckles. A lot of them. All over his face.

"Sam…"

And dark hair. And green eyes.

"Sammy, talk to me."

And his voice is deepening with every passing day.

"Sam I swear to God if you don't open your mouth…"

And his nose is small. And his teeth are white.

"Sam, just…tell me."

And he smells of sweat and soap.

"Sammy…"

And he calls me Sammy.

A garbage can rattled outside, a cat meowed and a man yelled: "Freakin' cats."

"It was Dad." It was barely a whisper, a brush of air over Dean's shirt.

Dean was puzzled. He shifted his body higher up the bed, his knee touching Sam's.

"What was Dad?"

"The…the man in the woods, on…on the ground."

Sam's lips were moving, Dean could see that, but the words were not entering his mind.

_Dad!? What the…!? _

He grabbed Sam by his forearms, feeling the bones under Sam's skin colliding with his palm: "It was a witch…she made you see things, and feel them and none of it was real."

"I saw him on the floor…"

Sam's voice was drifting away, gliding on the thick motel air…

"It was the witch, Sam. She made you…Dad is fine, Sammy, he's…he's fine."

How do you explain to a kid, that everything he saw and felt and dreamed and imagined…that none of that was real!? That it was all an illusion!?

"Where is he then?"

If Sam's eyes would be able to kill with their sorrow, Dean would be dead by now.

**---**

**TBC…**


	10. Chapter 10

**Ummm… I'm soo sorry this took so long, ****I just had a huge writers block with this story… I don't know what came over me, but I think that I'm over it now. I hope you can forgive me… I hope someone is still out there; thank you to those who reviewed this story and those of you who put it on alerts and favorites! Without you... this would never get finished! And I always keep my promises… and I promised that I will finish this story and I soooo will. I'm really sorry for the wait! 'm sorry. And I'm sorry for the grammar/spelling mistakes too. **

**Enjoy…**

**--- **

The room was still dark even though the thin morning light came to see what was going on… it sneaked through the curtains, spilled over Sam's moving chest. Sam, who was sitting on the bed, blinking at the window and Dean who was fumbling with his jeans and trying to come up with an answer to that question.

Where was Dad?!

_Fuck if I know._

"He'll be back soon."

"Don't lie to me."

Sam's voice was sharp in Dean's ears and it made him cringe.

"He went to see if the witch was working alone. He'll be back."

"When?"

"Soon, Sam."

There was silence in the room after that… nothing but occasional thunder from somewhere in the distance. A baby started to cry somewhere in another room near theirs and a cat made a noise… but that was all. That was all the sound that the cold, early morning held. And Dean had to break that… the silence in the room was making him dizzy. Dizzy with thoughts that were swimming in his head, thoughts about what… how to explain it to Sam that what he saw and felt was an illusion. That their Dad was alive and well and living and breathing and walking and talking and that the witch was just playing with him, casting a spell on him, making him see stuff. He tried already, but Sam was… he was just too far away to be reached. And Dean understood, he did… Sam just saw his Dad die, or at least he thought that he saw his Dad die and… every 'I'm okay' 'I'm fine' was just a coping mechanism that Sam used to shield himself. Dean understood, but that doesn't mean that it doesn't hurt.

"You 'kay?" Dean breathed.

"Yeah, 'm fine."

"Okay."

But Dean saw by the way Sam was breathing, by the way his hands were twitching, by the way his eyes kept looking everywhere else but Dean, by the way Sam curled on himself, lying back down on the bed, wincing when the new position burned his scrapes and bruises, by the way Sam showed his back to him… Dean knew that Sam was so far from okay.

"I want Dad."

The words were whispered into the pillow, but Dean heard them loud and clear as if they were yelled into his ear.

"He'll come."

Dean wished that that won't become a lie and he swore to God that if his Dad won't come soon… yeah, he had no idea what he would do. He sighed.

Sam battled with the bed, trying to lie back onto his back, wincing when he pulled up his knees.

Dean hadn't moved from his position by Sam's side, knowing that Sam wasn't over with talking. Sam's never over with talking, unless he's sulking, which was not the case here, Dean hoped.

He waited for Sam to open his mouth and he wasn't let down… three heartbeats later and Sam was…

"I saw," he fumbled with the blanket with his left hand, brushing Dean's jeans with his knuckles, " Dad… a man… that girl… witch die."

Dean wanted to laugh at Sam's words and how he couldn't make up his mind about what he saw… but… he just turned his body to Sam, looked into his brother's eyes that were hiding beneath his hair and breathed out: "She… she made you see that. She cursed you, Sammy. There was no man there. It was just her and me and Dad. And she... died. And you didn't see Dad… Dad's okay."

Sam swallowed. Dean could see his throat working, tears probably burning it but Sam won't let them fall… not again. One moment of weakness was enough for Sam. Dean knew that Sam was strong, he was the strongest person Dean has ever met.

"Yeah."

His little brother's voice was so small in the room, in the early dawn. So small that even the distant thunder overpowered it.

"Sammy…"

Dean was lost. His mind was all over the place and he wanted to scream and kick and cry and run. His Dad left him with Sam… alone to fix this, but Dean knew that he wasn't the one to fix this. Dad was.

Sam settled back into bed, his knees drawn up, his hands hugging them tightly and wincing when the cuts stung.

"I have to go," he looked at his hands, crusted blood under his fingernails and cleared his throat, "wash my hands. Get some sleep." He wanted to pat Sam's shoulder or back or calf or something to convince himself that the shudders that were shaking Sam's body were just an illusion too.

He stood up then, with a weird burning thought that maybe he shouldn't leave Sam alone, but he had blood under his fingernails, _blood_… he needed… needed to go. Leave. Just to take a breath. The bathroom was his only way of getting some privacy, some time to think, to breathe. Breathing is always good.

He walked towards the door, his feet hitting the wooden floor, the noise far too close to comfort and glanced back at his brother, his little brother, looking even smaller in that big bed.

There was a mirror in the bathroom, a small one but he could see his face clearly in it. He could see what the night did to him. His hair was all over the place, his freckles stood out on his pale face, like someone painted them on, his eyes were tired… he could see everything…

_Son of a bitch!!!!!!_

Screaming in his head was enough to get some relief from the pain he saw in his bloodshot eyes. He gripped the edge of the white sink, his knuckles turning from red to white…

_Son of a bitch!!!!!!_

He wanted to scream out loud, the words gigantic weight stuck in his throat, but he couldn't. Sam would hear. Sam would know how angry and freaked out he was. And he couldn't allow that. He needed to fix Sam… and then he'll fix himself. He'll glue himself back together after he'll glue Sam back together. He will. Yeah… he will. He has to.

_Son of a bitch!!!!_

He gasped as if the scream sucked all the air out of his lungs. He hanged his head low, his chin almost touching the string from where his amulet hung from… and his ears were invaded by the sound of a door opening and closing and a scream: "No!!!" that shook his body from head to toe.

**---**

**TBC…yes I know a cliffhanger but… I think I work better if I leave a cliffie to think about. Sorry. **_runs back to writing_**  
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	11. Chapter 11

**Phew****, finally!! The last chapter to a story that was meant to be a one shot! Nooooooooo coooooooooment.**

**Okay so this chapter kind of sucks, and I think that I won't be able to read any reviews ('m way to nervous) before I get my fix of chocolate, but… idk… ****I hope it fixes everything. I think I answered every plot question you might have had and if I didn't… talk to me! I know I probably didn't explain some stuff, so....'m here. LOL**

**Thank you so much everyone for reading and sticking with me**** through this. Thank you! **

**Enjoy…**

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The dirty bathroom mirror showed his eyes widen and his breath stop, when that little word reached him through the tightly shut door. He knew it was Sam, he knew it was his little brother who ripped that 'no' from his throat. He would recognize that voice anywhere, anytime. There were some rustling and banging noises coming from the room, noises that make you think that the whole place blew up.

There was no room for panic in his mind, no room for his own fear and exhaustion, because there was only Sam. Help Sam, go see what's going on, go fix your brother.

He was out of the bathroom before he could even blink and he wished that he could blink now, because the sight that greeted him widened his eyes and made him choke on Sam's name: "Sam?"

"Dean?"

"Dad?"

Dean turned his head towards the voice that called his name and saw his Dad's eyes wide open… there was something in them, something that Dean just couldn't indentify. Fear maybe, panic perhaps, or maybe it was an unspoken _whatthehellisgoingon_?... whatever it was, Dean had no answers to give. All he could do was stand there, glued to his spot, his hand still holding the bathroom door's handle in a death grip, his eyes not wanting to leave the sight of his Dad. He was afraid of what he might see if he would let his eyes wonder around the room.

John was standing still as a statue by the door, his right hand gripping the duffle bag for a second too long, before he dropped it on the floor. The noise that did made Dean flinch. He was so used to the silence, to only his and Sam's voice filling up the little room, that any sudden noise now made him flinch and shudder.

"Dad."

He had to repeat the word, because the first time he said it, the word sounded hollow in the quiet room. But this time around, it held some substance, because his Dad was really standing there, dripping wet from the rain. There was a small puddle forming beneath his feet, rain water being soaked by the carpet.

Dean could see his father's eyes leave his and move quickly to his left. Dean didn't want to fallow them, but heart works faster then your mind sometimes and before he knew it, he was looking at the small form of his little brother, squeezing himself into a corner by the bed. It always amazes Dean, how Sam, tall and all legs and arms can make himself look so small, smaller then a dwarf.

Sam wanted to hide, wanted to make himself look invisible, make himself as small as a spider so that he would be able to run away through a crack in the wall. He wanted to escape the two sets of eyes he felt burning holes on his back. One of his brother's and the other of his father. His dead father. A man that is most definitely not his Dad.

There was an ache in his chest that spread up to his throat, wanting to choke him. He wanted to let that happen, because… maybe that would make him pass out and he wouldn't be forced to see his Dad… his dead Dad. A man that was most definitely not his Dad.

The man standing in the room was most definitely not his father. His father was dead. He saw it happen. Even if Dean said that their Dad was alive and well. He saw… with his own eyes… his Dad die. The words he knew so well, still echoed in his mind… _help me, boy_.

He raised his hands and buried them into his hair and pushed himself deeper into the corner, feeling the walls on his side, feeling the cold of the wooden floor seep into his behind.

_This isn't Dad, this isn't Dad… 's not Dad. Can't be Dad. Dad'__s dead_, his mind kept saying and the words found their way to his mouth, because he could feel his tongue wrap itself around them. And that was bad. He would be heard. His brother and that man would hear him and they would come to him, and and and… he wouldn't be able to hide. He just wanted to hide, to make himself even smaller, unnoticeable, quiet. But his muscles started to hurt, hunched over and smashed to the wall like that… his eyes had water in them, he could feel it run down his cheeks, his heart was going miles per hour, his mind was still replaying '_s not Dad, 's not Dad, can't be Dad, Dad's dead. _

His back felt hot, there was a solid warm pressure on it, right between his shoulder blades… the warmth slowly spread all through his body, making him shiver.

"Sam?"

There was no answer, just a shiver that went through Sam's skin. Dean could feel it… it was an odd sensation, feeling something move beneath your fingers, something that you caused, but didn't wanna cause.

"Sam?"

No answer, but Dean could hear Sam's breathy words: "'s not Dad, not Dad, can't be Dad… Dad's dead…"

Dean chased the words with his ear, leaning over Sam's shaking back to press his cheek to Sam's ear. The words were there, on a loop: "'s not Dad, not Dad, can't be Dad… Dad's dead…"

Dean looked at his father, still standing there by the door, with a frown on his face and Dean shook his head, when John asked: "Dean?"

Dean knew he needed to make Sam listen, to make Sam realise that… this was their father, that their Dad wasn't dead, that the witch was an evil bitch and that Dad was okay, alive and breathing. He needed to make Sam see that, feel that. He could do that now, with their father in the room with them… all those words he told Sam before were just that, words, but now… now their Dad was in the same room with them and he could make Sam see him, feel him, touch him. This was good. This was gonna work.

But he couldn't make any irrational moves, like allowing his Dad to come to Sam before his brother was ready. That… that would push the kid back into himself, into his mind and there was no telling when and how they would get him back. Because Sam was sensitive, even if he barely showed it. Especially now, when he was a teenager. He sulked and bitched and brooded and didn't talk and talked too much and sulked some more, but when it came to it… Sam was a sensitive soul and Dean didn't want to break it. Before… when Sam was acting all tough and 'oh it was just a witch, I knew that'… Sam was lying and he was scared and it was a coping mechanism to not drown in everything that was going on in his head. Dean knew that. He did.

So he stopped his father's step forward by shaking his head 'no'. He could see John hesitate because after all, Sam was his boy, his son, and Dean knew that his Dad would do anything, anything at all to protect Sam… them.

"Sam…"

There was no answer, but Dean wasn't going for one. He was going for permission to touch Sam and not being slapped away or screamed at. He didn't want to startle Sam, he didn't want to make his little brother want to make himself even smaller… he just needed to raise Sam's head up and around so that he could look into his little brother's eyes and check for damage.

Sam felt a word being breathed down his neck, a word he should probably know, a word that he heard so many times, but right now that word meant nothing to him. But he didn't flinch. He didn't move away, he didn't try to squeeze himself tighter to the wall… because even if the word held no meaning, the voice saying it was something else. The voice held something sharp and slow, a question that needed no answer. Which was okay with him, because his mouth was stuck on: "'s not Dad, not Dad, can't be Dad… Dad's dead…"

Dean could feel the way Sam's fingers were moving in his little brother's mop of brown hair, he could feel them move against his cheek that was still pressed to Sam's temple. He could hear the rustle the movement made and he raised his hand to pry Sam's fingers out of there… he grabbed Sam's wrists and pulled but didn't let go. He could feel the pulse under his fingers, he could feel Sam's tiny bones underneath his fingers… he sighed. Sam was scared and there was nothing he could do about that. Not yet. First he needs to see… see Sam's eyes, see how far away his little brother is.

When a touch came to his chin, he didn't move away. He couldn't, because the touch was too strong and too light to do anything about it. And before he knew it, his neck was being twisted and his eyes locked with a greenness that was shadowed with the silent morning light.

"Sam, Sam… listen to me. It's Dad, ok? Alright? It's Dad," Dean chased Sam's teary eyes with his own and when finally locking them in place, "it's Dad, trust me. Can you trust me?"

Dean saw Sam's eyes dart away again and he tried to catch them once again, dropping his head down low in order to look at Sam: "Sam… it's Dad. Trust me, hey, hey look at me," he waited for his brother to look at him, with tears shining in the corner of Sam's eyes, almost breaking him in half:" It's Dad. Trust me. I can see him. I can touch him," he let go of Sam's left wrist and reached his hand behind him, gripping his Dad's arm, "see that? Dad. Sammy, it's Dad. It's Dad… trust me."

This was not real… his brother, his own brother was lying to him. Dad's dead… he saw him die. His Dad begged him to help him and he couldn't…

"I couldn't save him. He said help me, boy and I couldn't save him. I couldn't…"

Dean was startled when he heard Sam begin to speak. His brother's voice was hoarse, tight, scratched raw… words were being broken apart by sharp breaths, by strength being lost. Sam was finally there… breaking apart like he should have done hours ago. This was good, this was something Dean could work with. He just needed Sam to calm down and to realise that Dad was there and that he will always be there.

"Sam… Sammy… Dad's alright. He's right here, he's fine. Calm down, okay? Dad's right here. He is… you saved him… 's fine. You were awesome, man. That witch didn't stand a chance."

"But I didn't save him." Sam muttered.

Dean was going into lying territory, but hell… he needed to make Sam see that their Dad was alright and if that meant lying to the kid... okay. He would do damage control later. He just has to make Sam see that his Dad is okay and alive and if that means lying about Sam saving him, so be it.

Dean had no idea why Sam kept saying that he couldn't save their Dad, but… he can go along with Sam, play the game, make Sam think that he saved their Dad. No problem.

"You did, you saved him and the witch went down and it was awesome, dude."

Dean flinched at the lies, but damnit, sometimes you have to do what you have to do, even if it involves lying.

He wanted to grab hold of Sam and push him towards himself – it would be a hug, but he didn't care - when a strong hand stopped his movement. He turned around and saw his Dad shake his head 'no'.

_No?__ What the…?_

Before Dean could form a question, John mouthed 'move away'.

Dean did. He couldn't not obey an order. It wasn't what he was raised to do.

"Sam," John stepped closer to his son, "you did good, Sammy. You saved me."

He kept his voice low and calm and sharp and soothing. He can play the game too even though he had no idea what was going on. He will have to ask Dean about this later. But right now...

"'m here. 'm right here, Sam."

He moved closer towards Sam's hunched form with every word he spoke, until he had his back against the wall and Sam's shaking body pressed to his chest. He could feel his son shake and flinch away, but he was stronger and Sam stand no chance of getting away from him. He would never let his little boy get away from him. He would protect him for ever and even after that. Sam was his little boy, his youngest son, his… the last thing Mary gave to him. There was no way that a witch would win this. There was no way in hell that a witch would take away his son.

"I couldn't save you. You asked me to help you and I couldn't."

The words were muffled by John's shirt, because Sam tucked his head closer to his Dad's chest and inhaled the smell that made him raise his hands and clutch the wet shirt. Gun powder, whiskey and leather.

_Dad…_

"You did save me. You helped me and 'm okay."

"But…"

"Sam…"

Dean panicked that after that tone of voice with which his Dad just said his brother's name, harsh words would come, but he was proven wrong when his Dad just… ran his hand through Sam's hair, pushed Sam closer to himself and said: "'m safe. You saved me. You did good, son."

That made Sam hide his face in the soft rain soaked fabric of his father's shirt and Dean knew that Sam was crying. There was no sound coming from Sam, but some cut off breaths that Dean knew so well what they meant. He heard Sam crying late at night in his bed way too many times not to know how it went.

Finally, Dean thought, finally his Dad would be able to fix this… make Sam see and feel and make him believe that he did good.

"She really did a number on him, huh?"

Dean was pulled back from his thoughts when his father spoke those words.

"Yes, Sir."

"She's been taken care of." John said over Sam's mop of hair.

"Yes, Sir."

Dean did a little happy dance in his mind and then he wanted to go after the witch and kill her all over again.

It was… odd to see his little brother trying to hide into their Dad's embrace. The last time that happened was with that Shtriga, but that was when Sam was little… really little…

Dean thought that Sam will feel a lot embarrassed come afternoon, but... this was what was needed. He won't tease him about it. Never. Ever.

Little, muttered words were coming from Sam, breaking the silence of the room: "'m sorry, 'm sorry, Dad…" and tiny, breathless words were coming from John: "'s okay, 's okay, you did good, son, 'm okay," and sliding his fingers through Sam's hair: 'm not gonna die that easily, not gonna die period…"

By pushing Sam into their father's arms, Dean knew he fixed Sam. When he heard Sam say 'Dad' he knew that Sam would be okay, once he stops crying and comes back to himself.

"Witches, huh?"

Dean was once again startled out of his thoughts by his Dad's voice.

"Hate them." And he pressed his palm down on the centre of Sam's spine, trying to smooth out his brother's tremors: "Hate them so much."

John looked at Dean over Sam's head: "Me too, boy. Me too."

**---**

**The End. **


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